


Root Under Stone

by suspectmind



Category: Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:16:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4261311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspectmind/pseuds/suspectmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How...are you feeling?” Heath asks finally, words failing him.</p><p>Legault’s smile tightens and his eyes crinkle. “Can’t complain.” he says.</p><p>“Legault, truly...”</p><p>The thief lets out a huff of laughter. “No need to worry. Cleaning house is what I do, remember?” he winks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Root Under Stone

\--

 

He finds Legault in the oddest of places, truly. He’d searched, while the lordlings, and their old legend and their tactician had disappeared into the shrine, in every tent in camp, including the bathing tents and merchant’s quarters. Instead he found him here with Hyperion, near the makeshift stables they’d made from logs and trees, scratching at the scales on his wyvern’s throat. Legault smiles, but there’s something off about it.

“Found me.” he says, a stillness in his voice.

Heath hates that it takes him several minutes to swallow the lump in his throat. The thief doesn’t seem to notice, or if he'd noticed, he doesn’t seem to care. Hyperion coos at the attention, which in and of itself is alarming. Hyperion isn’t the type to wind down after battles. On especially bad days, Heath needs to take him flying, circling the trees underfoot just so he won’t cause trouble in the camps. Legault has been petting his wyvern a while. 

“Did you know,” he says, still wearing that thin smile. “That we have another wvyern in our camp? And Hyperion here gets rather skittish around him.” 

“Does he have a rider?” Heath asks. 

“Mm. Not certain.” comes the vague reply, as Legault slowly drops his hand from Hyperion’s neck. He turns around, away from the camp and walks. Heath briefly runs his hand over Hyperion’s snout and follows. He doesn’t go far.

Heath struggles for something to say while Legault leans against one of the trees that marks the army station for the area. A nearby fortress casts a shadow over them, and the evening chill picks up briefly. “How...are you feeling?” Heath asks finally, words failing him.

Legault’s smile tightens and his eyes crinkle. “Can’t complain.” he says.

“Legault, truly...”

The thief lets out a huff of laughter. “No need to worry. Cleaning house is what I do, remember?” he winks.

Heath frowns. “Legault.”

“ _I know_.” Legault shuts his eyes briefly. “I know.” He looks up at the fortress where their archer’s are stationed. An arm waves out at them from the top. Heath raises his own hand as a brief greeting, to signal ‘all is calm’ for Wil’s own peace of mind. He gets enthusiastic waving back.

Legault sighs beside him. “I...didn’t think I’d ever have to kill one ofthe Commander’s boys.” he says quietly.

“You did what you had to do.” Heath says.

“I know that.” He’s not smiling anymore, diverting all his attention to the setting sun. “Right now, I’m just...wondering when it’ll all catch up to me.” The sun starts to sink, and the wind picks up. The camp is starting to look brighter and brighter, with lanterns and fire pits. For a moment, it feels like Heath never deserted. That terrible feeling of dread and homesickness has subsided, if only for a brief time.

“I know how you feel.” Heath answers. He hopes it’s enough. He isn’t ready to tell him anything else yet.

Legault looks like he wants to smile, but it doesn’t quite make it to his face. He lifts himself away from the tree and closes the distance between them. Heath is struck by how their eye-levels match, and the notches on Legault’s brow, the faint wisps of grey in his lavender hair, the lines on his face, under his eyes, on his forehead. The thief raises a hand to stroke Heath’s chin. “I know you do.”

He kisses him, briefly brushing their lips together. It ends before Heath can register the touch, and Legault steps away.

 

\---

\---

 

The wound on his head had knocked him out, and in the brief respite they’d had before the villain himself, they’d drag him and Kent to safety. The injury stretched from the side of Legault’s head to his cheek, and a section of his hair had been cut to make the wound visible for the healers to treat. Legault jolts awake when Heath touches it.

“Oh, it’s you, Heath.” he says, almost too casually. Like he hadn’t just almost escaped another brush with death. Heath’s a little surprised the clamour on the other side of the tents didn’t rouse him sooner. He can’t stay long.

“How’s your head?” He asks.

“Hm. Not bleeding anymore, it seems.” Legault answers. “Though I don’t know how much I can help with my arm the way it is.” Broken. Right. He’d forgotten. He’d been so preoccupied with the severity of the head injury, he’d forgotten Legault had been nursing an injured arm beforehand, after taking out the earlier morphs. 

“It was noble.” Heath says.

“I was trying to declaw the archer, nothing else.” He says. “It didn’t do much good, to tell you the truth.”

Heath allows himself a brief smile. “Lady Lyndis will be grateful you managed to get her top lieutenant to withdraw from battle with only minor injuries.”

“I was trying to excuse _myself_ with only minor injuries.” Legault sighs. “There’s only so many familiar faces one can fight before it shatter the nerves.”

Calls from outside catch their attention, their brief respite was over. All available soldiers were needed on the battlefield. Heath looks at Legault. At least he knows the thief won’t die today. “I should let you rest.”

Legault narrows his eyes. “You’ll need to give them twice as much, you know.”

“Huh?”

He smirks. “For Kent’s sake.”

Heath stares. “You’re insufferable.”

Legault closes his eyes. “And you’ll suffer me until one of us croaks.”

The calls are louder now, more desperate. The sounds of fighting are distant and Sain is having a hard time breaking away from his comrade. Hyperion worries and snarls. “Neither of us is going to die today, Legault.”

The thief laughs painfully. “Of course.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

Heath’s heart beats in his throat. He sucks in a shaky breath and presses a kiss unto Legault’s cheek, mindful of the scar sure to form. “You have my word as a knight, we will both live past this day.”

Hyperion roars when Heath takes flight.

 

\--

\--

 

“I heard from Fiora that mercenary work isn’t so hard to come by in Ilia.” Heath says. Legault looks younger with his hair cut short. Or older. He isn’t certain. Alive, though. Very much alive. And his wound is on the path to healing, another odd scar to add to his collection. Heath continues. “The further from Lycia, the better. It’s said to snow all year ‘round, though.” He’s nervous. Legault hasn’t said much since the end of this terrible journey. He didn’t even say anything when they won. “I could ask her, or her sister how they fare in such conditions.” Perhaps Legault changed his mind? Perhaps he’d felt their ‘friendship between fugitives’ had expired now that they had destroyed what was controlling the Black Fang. Perhaps Legault truly did not expect to survive that last battle.

“I have family in Ilia.” he suddenly says. 

Heath blinks. Legault’s complexion is a tint sallower than the starkness that comes with Ilian skin, the lines in his face more pronounced. His build is also ill-suited for farming. Is he lying? Perhaps other fugitives found their way to Ilia. He sends and receives letters very often, after all. “You’re tall for an Ilian.” is what Heath settles on.

Legault glances back to smile smugly at him. “I didn’t spend a lot of time huddled over for warmth tilling fields, Heath.”

Heath offers a small smile back, but Legault is already turned around, gathering what’s his on the table and preparing to de-board at the port. It seems he will leave the second they hit shore, even with his arm in a sling. Heath realises he...hasn’t asked. And for a moment it’s terrifying. He remembers when he first deserted; he’d been at a loss for what to do for weeks, barely paying attention to the days passing, lost in his own despair. Would this happen again? 

He has no right to return to Bern, no place among the knights there, and no forseeable future besides. He...truly doesn’t want to fall back into that pit of hopelessness. He was very lucky he found mercenary work when he did, at the height of his misery.

Up above, they call for land. They can hear cheering. Legault chuckles briefly, then turns around to look at him. He looks expectant.

Heath may not be a knight attached to a royal and fearsome army anymore, but he still has his pride to overcome. “Will...your family...take us in?” He can’t seem to look the thief in the eyes. At least he got it out. It was easier than asking where they stand now, and where they ever did.

Legault’s boots creak on the floor and Heath feels his thumb stroke across his face. He looks up and decides the haircut does indeed make him look younger, perhaps more reckless. “They’ll take us in for a time.” He says. “I’ll need that time to find us more appropriate lodging.” His brows are darker than his eyelashes and the scar he has forming presses from the side of his skull to his cheek, and Heath is certain he won’t have it looked at before they leave. He touches Legault’s hand on his face and doesn’t protest when the thief leans in.

The ship waves and creaks the way it does approaching port, dull footfalls pound on floors above. It all sounds very quiet compared to the relief Heath feels, and strangeness he feels from the chaste kiss.

Legault drops his hand and steps away. “You’re certainly right about it being cold, though.” he says. “But still. Further from Lycia; further from Bern.”

“Further from the army and the Black Fang?”

“We are never too far from an agent of the Black Fang.” Legault says. “Still, this whole mess with Nergal has probably scattered them well and for a good long while.” He cocks his head towards the stairs leading to the deck. “Shall we?”


End file.
